


Your Music Is Rubbish

by LaurytheLatrator



Category: Nathan Barley (TV)
Genre: Drugged Sex, Drunk Sex, Hand Jobs, I swear it isn't as bad as it sounds, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Series, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurytheLatrator/pseuds/LaurytheLatrator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan and Jones have sex. Repeatedly. Mostly when one or both of them are off their tits.</p><p>Somehow this leads to Dan cleaning up his act and them falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I must seem pathetic.”
> 
> “Nah, not by half…”
> 
> “Curled up with my flatmate under a cold shower, off my tits ‘cause some idiot thought it’d be a laugh?”

It wasn’t the first time Dan Ashcroft had barreled into House of Jones pissed off his arse, but he never flinched when encountering the wall of sound that Jones produced night and day. Even hungover he could deal with the cacophony, he was the only one to call Jones’ mixes soothing. So seeing his flatmate stumble back with a hand to his head made Jones immediately kill the music.

“Alright, Dan?” He asked loudly, overcompensating for the ringing in his ears. Dan shook his head slowly, and there was no warning before he fell to the floor. Jones yelped and ran to his side.

“Oi, what’s up wif you?” Jones’ hands ran over the back of Dan’s head, checking for a bump if he’d hit the ground hard enough. Dan’s eyes opened at the touch, and even as his lips formed ‘don’t touch me’ Jones was more preoccupied with the fact his pupils were blown as big as his irises. Dread formed in Jones’ stomach, and he clasped his hands to Dan’s cheeks. He felt like he was burning up, even though the only heat in the flat had been coaxed from the lone electric heater by Jones’ finagling, as they hadn’t the money for gas.

“Alright, what’d ya take?” Jones asked brusquely, turning his friend’s head this way and that to see if his eyes moved. Dan could focus on his face, but didn’t seem to understand the question. Jones gave him a light tap on the cheek that elicited a full body shudder. “Dan! What’d. You. Take? Pills? Powder? Was it in a needle? How much was it? C’mon mate, tell me what you remember.”

Dan shook his head, but Jones didn’t shift his grip. “Didn’t…” Dan mumbled, and Jones huffed and was about to interrupt when he continued, “Swear… three lagers at the club, s’it.”

“The club that tosser Barley was gigging at?” Jones asked, but he already suspected what had happened. The trashbat following had all been in attendance, and Sugar Ape (or whatever it was called now) had been given free passes inside. Dan hadn’t wanted to go of course, but he’d been roped into it by his coworkers, and Dan really was too easily swayed.

“Reckon someone slipped a mick in your drink?” Jones asked, but Dan wasn’t focusing anymore, his eyes had slipped closed and he was sagging into the floor. Moving a hand to his shoulder, Jones shook him urgently. “Dan? Dan!” Relief when those eyes opened again. “How you feel? Reckon you need hospital?”

“No!” Dan lurched up in the first sign of energy all night, anxiety etched in his face. “No, not again.” Right. Dan would never trust hospitals again since the shit they let people get away with while he was unconscious.

“Tell me what’s happening then, mate, and I’ll help.” He couldn’t do shit if he didn’t know what it was Dan’d been dosed with. Upper, downer, it could be anything.

“It’s hot.” Dan groaned, and trust him to pick the one symptom Jones could feel for himself. “The world’s all… swirly. And, god…” His eyelids slipped closed as an entirely different emotion from anxiety came over his face. “Your hands…” Oh. Jones bit his lip, feeling a very inappropriate blush come over his cheekbones.

“Sensitive?” He clarified, unconsciously swiping his thumb over Dan’s cheek. His friend groaned and nodded, and Jones came to his senses, shifting his grip to both shoulders safely covered in clothing. “Sounds like E to me. C’mon, get up.” He pulled on Dan’s shoulders and the larger man struggled to comply.

After some maneuvering Jones had Dan on both feet, leaning most of his weight on the DJ. They waddled like a three-legged dog to the bathroom, where Jones tried his best to carefully lower Dan into the tub, but mostly ended up dropping him unceremoniously.

“Now, this ain’t fun, but it’s worth it, promise.” Dan didn’t answer except to blink blearily, so Jones turned the cold shower dial. Dan shrieked and flailed, and Jones put a hand to his shoulder. “What’d I tell ya? Just relax, it’ll help!” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m gonna be right back, you stay there! Can you manage a minute without drowning?” Dan was aware enough to glare at him, so Jones took that as a yes.

It did only take a minute to fill a glass of water and come back, but in that time Dan had shucked his wet shirt and was leaned against the tub with an expression of, well, _ecstasy_ as the cold water ran over his flushed skin. Jones paused at the sight, feeling both a surge of affection for his mate but also uncharacteristic anger at whoever thought it’d be funny to dose him. Kneeling by the tub, he held out the glass of water and tapped Dan briefly on the cheek so he’d open his eyes.

“Drink it slowly.” Jones advised and, wonder of wonders, he listened.

Once he’d set the empty glass beside the tub, Dan looked at him, shivering slightly. “Had experience with this, have you?” It was punchy and irritable and a return of the Dan he was used to.

“Yeah, as a DJ, I _may_ have run into one or two kids off their tits on club drugs.” Jones explained in as patient a voice he could muster, lightly teasing because he couldn’t help it. He neglected to state the obvious, that he himself had been a club kid once, before finding the other side of the speakers more fascinating. Dan looked suitably chastised, even if that wasn’t really Jones’ intention, and closed his eyes again.

He shivered, or at least that was what Jones thought until it became more like twitching, and that rang alarm bells loud enough to penetrate Jones’ brain. “Oi, no you don’t!” He exclaimed, and in an instant he was clambering under the ice cold spray and grabbing Dan’s lolling body. Jones pulled the twitching, shuddering body of his mate close, cradling his head to his neck.

“Wh-hat-t-t?” Dan mumbled, sounding very alarmed, even as he did nothing to control the jerking of his body.

“Can’t have you braining yourself in a fit.” Jones said, wrapping an arm around Dan’s middle. He did his best to arrange them in the most comfortable way possible within a tiny bathtub. Eventually they wound up with Jones lying down and Dan curled over his front. At least, Jones told himself as he focused on the cold, he could protect Dan’s head and neck this way.

After far too long the jerking subsided into shivers once more, and even those began to wane. Jones, being underneath Dan’s body for the most part, was shielded from the brunt of the cold shower, but even he was shaking.

“Turn it off.” Dan murmured, and Jones shook his head. “Please. It’s too much, I’m not hot anymore, but the water…” Thinking he understood, and glad to hear mostly complete sentences again, Jones reached up and shut the shower off. The sudden silence was disturbing.

“Alright?” Jones found himself asking, needing as always to fill the void with sound. He was no longer sure what to do with his hands, particularly the one that was woven into Dan’s hair, cradling the back of his skull.

“I must seem pathetic.” Came Dan’s vitriolic, if weary, answer.

Jones gave a cautious stroke through the wet curls Dan’d been growing out again. “Nah, not by half…”

“Curled up with my flatmate under a cold shower, off my tits ‘cause some _idiot_ thought it’d be a laugh?” Jones couldn’t exactly refute that. “And I have a hazy recollection of trying to have it off with two girls behind the club, but I couldn’t even pull on Ecstasy.” He sounded bitter, which wasn’t rare, but also vaguely regretful, though Jones wasn’t sure if he regretted the attempt to get off in an alley with strangers or not being successful at it. Either way, Jones’ insides were squirming uncomfortably as his overactive imagination painted the scene.

“Least you ain’t still…” He wasn’t sure how to end that sentence. Wandering the streets of London with a hard on?

“I don’t feel like I’m dying anymore.” Dan begrudged him a bright side, then raised his hand to rest it tentatively on Jones’ chest, over the soaked Pearl Jam shirt he’d stripped of its sleeves. What seemed to have started out as an awkward pat lingered. “Thanks for that, Jones.” It struck Jones as odd and rather sad that he hadn’t expected Dan to thank him. The acknowledgement was sweet, bittersweet.

“You’re high though, not much I can do ‘bout that, just gotta ride it out.” Jones wanted to lift his head and look at Dan, but it felt wrong, as though his friend needed some semblance of privacy. “I could play you a mix, if you like ‘em before just wait ’til you’re off your head, you can _taste_ my beats.”

“Can we…” Dan said, trailing off bashfully, “….stay here?” Jones blinked at their dirty water-stained ceiling.

“Yeah, if you want.”

“Good.” Dan shifted, realigning their limbs, and for a moment so brief Jones may well have imagined it, he felt a telltale bulge where his mate’s trousers were still on brush against his thigh.

“How in bloody Hell,” The incredulous words flew from his mouth without censorship, “Do you still have a hard on after all that cold water?” If there’d been doubt about the bulge, there was no mistaking how Dan tensed and twisted his hips away.

“You’re fucking warm, alright?” Dan retorted defensively, the words still spoken into Jones’ neck. “And my skin’s still hypersensitive and… well, isn’t this the whole fucking point of Ecstasy in the first place?”

“No judgement,” Jones said, “I’m mostly just impressed, your cock’s got tenacity.” Except he hadn’t had any visible tenting when he’d fallen through the door, or when Jones lugged him into the tub. It must’ve been lying there, with the shower off, the two of them pressed wet skin to wet skin…

“Would it help?” Dan’s question broke Jones’ pondering. Jones sucked in a breath when the hot weight returned to brush more deliberately against his leg. “Would I feel less…”

“No,” Jones told him honestly, and Dan sagged in what he guessed was disappointment, “You’d still need to wait it out. But,” he added, taking another shallow breath, shifting his legs to fall open slowly, “It feels fucking unbelievable.” He didn’t want to say more, about nights when he fucked for hours on a delicate balance of pills, about feeling like a teenager again, about wishing all sex could feel so good except without having to puke your guts out later so you don’t need your stomach pumped in A&E.

Dan didn’t say anything, but he did move so they lay front to front, his thigh falling between Jones’ knees. His chin was on Jones’ clavicle, and Jones didn’t feel guilty about trying to meet his eyes. Dan looked lost as he ground his cock into the crease of Jones’ hip, his pupils still wigged out and all. Jones was overcome with the fact that he was not a very good person.

“Tell me you want me to get you off.” He said, more of a request in theory than the demand in actuality. The hand that had so carefully protected Dan’s neck from twisting slid down his body to his waistband.

“Please.” Dan moaned, pushing into Jones’ hand. Even with limited room to maneuver Jones could still get a cock out easy. He would’ve loved to have Dan fuck the tight space between his thighs, but wearing drainpipes, soaked even further onto his skin, he knew that wouldn’t be comfortable for long. He wanted to make this good for Dan, because if he was only going to have one fuck on E, it ought to live up to the hype.

“Dan…” He murmured, before realizing that sounded very intimate while stroking his friend’s cock. But Dan had his eyes closed, an expression of aimless bliss. Jones gave a tug on the hair at the crown of Dan’s head, and Dan jerked upwards and into awareness. “Tell me you wanted this before.” Jones said, stroking faster, glad for the dampness of the tub and his clothes, and not relinquishing his hold on Dan’s hair.

“I do.” Dan answered, but that didn’t satisfy him.

“Before you got dosed tonight, tell me you’ve wanted me before now.” It was needy, and unlike him, but Jones didn’t think he’d forgive himself for doing this without some assurance. Because he loved Dan, fancied him even, and although he’d had many a fantasy of wanking his friend and things far more outlandish than that, it was a bit different having Dan hopped up from some idiot’s prank. He needed to know he wasn’t adding to the nightmares that cropped up when the music stopped.

“Jones, don’t be stupid.” Strangely enough that lifted his spirits; if Dan was going to knock him back mid handie at least he sounded like himself. Except Dan didn’t go on to tell him this was just a utility wank (or some rubbish Dan would cook up as some unreal, unspoken rule to sex). Instead he moved his head forward, and Jones’ hand went with him, and Dan brought their lips together in a hot, panting, open-mouthed mess of a first kiss. It was quite terrible as far as coordination goes, but unbearably sexy, and Jones crushed them together as he upped the pace of his grip on Dan’s cock. They groaned together, the sound trapped between them, and Jones thought he’d like that in a mix, the reverb of Dan’s lips.

“I’d bum you silly if I thought I’d have the strength.” Dan breathed when they finally let up for air. Although Jones stopped blushing at dirty talk ages ago, for some reason that notion got heat flaring throughout him.

“Maybe next time.” He promised, even if the prospect of a ‘next time’ seemed far too hopeful. Jones kissed him again, twisting his wrist and teasing the head. Dan shook, his whole body a line of tension on top of him.

“Fuck, Jones!” Dan gasped as he came with little warning into Jones’ hand. Jones stroked down his neck, down his back, gently rubbing his cock until he reckoned the stimulation was too much. It wasn’t anything to wipe his hand on the damp material of his trousers, he’d sort it later, when Dan wasn’t such an exquisite fucked out mess.

“Fuck, but you’re gorgeous when you come, Dan.” He couldn’t keep from saying. Even if he was still too cold, and not a little worried, to really get it up, his own cock gave a valiant twitch when looking at Dan all panting and red-faced. Dan’d slumped across his chest and didn’t budge at the compliment. “You alright?” Jones asked. He half expected Dan to have fallen asleep.

“Yeah, think so.” Was the mellow reply. “I’d rather like to move to the sofa and lay in the dark for a while.”

“We can make that happen, mate.” Jones said cheerfully, switching gears neatly from fucking to care taking. They clearly weren’t talking about it just then, and honestly Dan was still fucked up, they had bigger problems than Jones’ mixed up feelings.

With some coaxing, and a little acrobatics, Dan and Jones managed to get out of the tub without falling over each other. Dan initially tried to walk by himself, but his dizziness was apparent, and he soon rested a broad hand on Jones’ shoulder for support. Dan slumped onto the couch he often occupied, and Jones pulled the blanket up over his chest. He stopped himself at tucking him in though.

“So, whatchu wanna listen to?” Jones asked, bounding over to the mixing desk. The question came from the obvious: he knew Dan could never sleep without something blocking out his thoughts. He shuffled through the CDs and vinyl he had propped up next to it. What he hadn’t mixed himself was mostly hardcore rock from the 80s and 90s, but he could find something ambient. “Something soothing, yeah? Low key? Don’t want you tripping out again.” Maybe he could dig up some Enya, he’d suffer through that for Dan.

“One of your mixes.” Dan said, and Jones looked over at him. He had his eyes closed, head back against the armrest. “But play it quieter.”

Jones considered mixing something new, maybe something with the sound of water running and a baseline that could mimic skin on skin. No, he’d save that for later. Instead he put one of his older mixes on, at about half the volume he’d usually play. As the discordant sounds filled the room, Jones walked carefully over to the sofa. Dan didn’t stir, just sunk further into the cushions.

Making a decision, Jones sat on the floor, leaning his back against the sofa’s edge. It wasn’t exceedingly comfortable. Dan’s breathing was even, he could hear him, and that was comfort enough. Jones was sat there for a few moments, letting himself finally calm down from the emotional ride of the evening, when Dan shifted and his hand fell off the edge close to Jones. He glanced at Dan, who appeared asleep.

Without bothering to overthink, Jones took Dan’s hand in his own, clasping it gently as he relaxed. They’d be alright, with or without a next time. But Jones rather hoped there would be. And maybe Dan wouldn’t be off his head this time and would actually reciprocate. Yeah, Jones thought as he closed his eyes and leaned his head on Dan’s leg, that’d be nice.


	2. Adam Ant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan was pretty sure day 3 without sleep was when people started hallucinating

One sunny Sunday afternoon, Jones was prattling on as he started preparing his next coffee, seemingly unable to shut his mouth. “Problem with paintings, yeah? They’re so _loud_! They’re like, ‘Ooh, lookit me, tryin’ ta bust into a conversation after centuries of geezers wanking with their brushes!’ Pushy, paintings are, and pointless. Pushy, pointless, pushy pointless…” He alternated the words, putting emphasis on their alliteration as if he’d hypnotized himself.

“Got it, thanks.” Dan muttered lowly, and Jones immediately snapped out of it.

“So painting’s a bit of alright, but music, that’s different! Music’s about listening, innit? Record something everyone hears everyday, but phase it into a mix, turn _sound_ into _song_. Genius! Least how I do it, or try to, anyway. Most clubs’ll play any remixed pop cut-n-paste as long as it’s 130 BPM. No point in that rubbish, no—“

“Are you sure you want that coffee?” Dan blithely inquired. “You sound halfway round the bend already.”

Jones paused with his hand by the coffee maker’s button, then spun away. “Genius, Dan! Don’t need coffee. Wine, red wine! Get me mellowed out some so’s I can crash later. Brilliant! Go on an’ knick us a bottle, won’t you, mate?”

Dan looked up to glare at his flatmate, but Jones was already a whirlwind headed back to his desk. Dan considered not going and waiting for Jones to forget he’d ever asked (which would take all of 10 minutes), but he wouldn’t mind a bottle himself, and he was pretty sure day 3 without sleep was when people started hallucinating. It was only half past 2, but he knew a shop with cheap wine and smokes that’d be open. His column for Yeah? could wait.

Stretching as he stood, Dan crossed the living room, moving through the sound of Jones’ latest creation. Pingu had donated Jones some of his old game… things, and Jones had spent the first 6 hours taking them apart and putting them together and wiring them into his board. Since then he’d been tinkering with their sound and filtering the blocky retro creation into his existing collection. He was like a kid with a new toy he couldn’t put down, and much as Dan had rolled his eyes and huffed, it was entertaining to watch. Or at least it had been Friday.

“Cheers, Dan!” Jones called over his music when he saw Dan walk by, and Dan waved him off. Really, he rationalized to himself, he was just being selfish if he wanted Jones drunk enough that he’d have to stop mixing with those odd hums and beeps. Money well spent.

He was having to do that a lot lately, rationalize his behavior towards Jones. Sometimes they’d brush a bit too close to each other in the flat, and Dan wouldn’t notice until Jones would smile and move away. Jones was smiling oddly too, sometimes slyly like they were sharing a joke, and sometimes rueful, and Dan wasn’t so good at telling one from the other. Dan chalked it up to his usual disregard for societal niceties like personal space, but his flush immediately afterwards seemed to contradict that.

Or there was the time when he walked in on Jones shaving in the bathroom, his hair tied neatly in a bunch, and although it was completely innocent, Dan stammered like a moron and hit his head trying to back out the door. Jones was kind enough not to point out how batty he was acting, because Dan had no good answer besides ‘aerosol fumes’.

And then there was the Big One. While he’d been drugged by some twat at a club, Jones had taken him into the bathtub, cooled him off and then _wanked_ him off. And Dan had liked it, not because of the E, because it was Jones. If Dan were a normal human capable of examining his feelings critically, he would be in a turmoil. As it happened, Dan was repressing the whole experience, labeling it another instance of meaningless sex that he and (he assumed) Jones partook in on a semi-regular basis, just never with each other prior to that night.

It wouldn’t have happened at all if Dan hadn’t been vulnerable and horny, surely. Jones hadn’t even pushed for reciprocation, so it couldn’t have been that important to him at the time. As long as he didn’t examine how safe and content and cared for he felt in the moment, he could forget the whole sorry experience. It wouldn’t be very hard, some bits were already hazy to begin with.

Thankfully, no one recognized him on the way to the shop. Quarter hour later, Dan was striding back into House of Jones with two bottles of dirt cheap red wine and a pack of smokes. The music hadn’t changed much in his absence. Jones looked up and beamed at him, and Dan tamped down harshly on any flutter in his abdomen.

“Thanks, Dan, bring it here!” Dan held up a hand and went to the kitchen to uncork it. He deliberated for a moment on whether to bring cups, but decided not to bother. Walking back to the mixing desk, Dan passed over the open bottle. Jones took it by the neck and tipped it up, gulping so quickly a line of red dribbled out the corner of his mouth all the way down his long neck. Dan wrenched his eyes away and went back to lying on the couch, his own bottle within reach.

“That’s the stuff!” Jones exclaimed, roughly wiping his mouth with his arm. Setting down the wine bottle, Jones picked up his microphone and proceeded to alternate screaming and imitating a chimpanzee. Dan settled in to write his article, a bitter scathing inditement of something Dan honestly couldn’t give a toss about.

At some point Dan must’ve fallen asleep, because he woke to a much quieter house. Instead of his mix, Jones had put on his Adam Ant record. He only usually consented to play other people’s music when he needed to wind down from mixing but wasn’t ready for sleep. It was dark, and Dan looked around, expecting to see Jones on the other sofa.

He froze when he noticed his flatmate sitting cross-legged on the floor, the mostly empty wine bottle cradled in his lap, staring at him. The DJ was swaying lightly out of time from the music’s beat. He wore a peculiar expression that set Dan on edge. Jones wasn’t meant to look so serious.

“I don’t get you.” Jones said, in the extremely intense manner that alcohol brings out. Dan glanced at where his own wine had been only to find it gone. That explained it then. “I pretend I do,” Jones continued with a wobbly wave of his hand, “But I don’t know much more than what puts you to sleep.”

“What’s it matter?” Dan said as he tried to sit up, feeling a need to get a handle on the conversation.

“Why do you stay at that magazine?” Jones asked, and Dan nearly flinched. “Why haven’t you quit? If it’s money, yeah? I’m set for the next three months’ rent. And you can get any old job, it don’t have to be for a magazine or summat. I’ve not seen you enjoy writing anything in ages, so don’t say any shit about artistic integrity. You’ve got the CV, you got the schooling, you could work in a shop, at least.”

“A shop?” Dan repeated.

“Yeah, a shop.” Jones shot back. “Don’t get all posh. You’d be happier there than at SugarRapists.”

Dan shook his head, a lump forming in his stomach. This was what always happened. Someone demanded more of him, and when he inevitably fell short, they’d get fed up with his failure and leave. Claire seemed trapped in an endless cycle of it. Jones had managed to hold off, but it had been too good to last forever.

“If my job bothers you…” Dan began tiredly.

“I just want you safe, Dan!” Jones broke out loudly, getting up on his knees and shuffling to the couch. Dan didn’t budge, not even when Jones moved between his legs, putting both hands on his thighs. Jones looked earnestly up at Dan’s face, and he struggled to maintain eye contact. “I don’t want you jumping out any more windows or getting drugged and whatnot. That stuff never happens to shopkeepers.”

Privately, Dan thought his poor luck would continue regardless of his profession, but Jones didn’t seem like he’d listen to that kind of logic. He was optimistic at the best of times, and irrational during times like these.

“Think about it, alright?” Jones asked, and he sunk down and lay his head on Dan’s thigh.

“It’s easy for you, I s’pose.” Dan said, and out of some instinct he started petting Jones’ head, letting his feathered hair slip through his fingers.

“Why?” Jones belligerently mumbled into Dan’s trousers. “’Cause I’m simple? I’m an idiot ‘cause I don’t torture myself for my art? Am I a sellout ‘cause I like working in a salon?”

“‘Course not.” Dan said, rolling his eyes. He was a bit chagrined, having not realized how close ‘shop’ and ‘salon’ could be interpreted by Jones’ addled mind. He honestly hadn’t meant to insinuate anything about Jones’ day job. “And you’re not an idiot.”

Jones turned his head so he could gaze up at Dan with wide eyes. “That’s another thing I don’t get. I hang around clubs filled with people you hate, but you don’t act like you hate me.” Jones blinked a bit rapidly. “Maybe you do, I dunno. I like you though, Dan.”

Dan smiled, genuinely, down at his mate. “I tolerate you, Jones.” Jones laughed, then turned to muffle his laughter in Dan’s leg. The vibrations rumbling through his trousers made Dan mildly uncomfortable. Reaching down, Dan clasped his shoulders and tugged gently. “C’mon, you’re about to crash, let’s get you to a bed.” Jones didn’t react much, but brute force got him to his feet anyway.

Both standing, Dan realized they were awfully close, his hands under Jones’ armpits as the DJ lolled forward, leaving very little space between them. The red wine smell was oozing off the younger man. His shaggy hair was shielding his eyes, but Dan had no doubt they’d be glassy and out of focus. Dan could see his pink, moist lips, and couldn’t help the mental image that sprung to mind of sliding his tongue across Jones’ mouth.

His cheeks burning, Dan said gruffly, “Move it, you lump, I’m not carrying you.” Rolling his head, Jones looked at him properly. There was color in his cheeks as well. His eyes were bright, and bluer seeming for it.

Blinking out of his fog, Jones gave him a lopsided grin. “Might be into that, actually.” He said, and Dan felt his hands come up to hold him gently by the waist. Physically Dan didn’t startle, but inwardly his mind was racing in panic. Jones wasn’t subtle about what he wanted just then, but there was no guarantee he’d be happy about it in the morning. In fact, all evidence would suggest he’d regret it very much. Dan wasn’t known for being a charitable person, but he did actually care for Jones, at least enough not to want to take advantage of him 2 bottles of wine down and with a 3 day sleep debt.

“You’re drunk.” He told Jones, meaning to play it off with a scoff but utterly failing to reach any believable indifference. The younger man snickered, in a way that said, ‘Yeah.’ Jones leaned forward, their chests coming into contact, and he slid his arms up to wrap around Dan’s neck. Hanging off him, Jones looked so cheeky with his broad grin and dancing eyes, Dan nearly forgot why this was a bad idea.

“Don’t be stupid, Dan.” Jones said gently, and it niggled at a memory Dan couldn’t grasp. Surging up, Jones kissed him firmly, and Dan found his lips to be as soft as he imagined. Of their own accord, Dan’s arms circled Jones’ slim body, feeling thin cotton wrinkle as he ran his hands over Jones’ shoulder blades. He’d never held his flatmate before, never had occasion to feel the muscle bunched over that slight frame. He knew from then on he wouldn’t be able to observe Jones moving equipment without conjuring lurid memories.

Giving in with an ease he knew he should be ashamed of, Dan opened his mouth to lick Jones’ lips. Jones moaned and beckoned him in. His stubble scratched smooth skin, and Dan wondered if Jones would be red tomorrow, with a thrill of pride. They snogged like mad, and Dan was hardening under his trousers, and this was getting thoroughly out of hand. Jones had a hand creeping down towards his arse, and Dan wasn’t sure he was opposed to that.

Breaking it off, Dan said, “Bed, seriously.” With his eyes still closed, Jones pouted like a true Lolita. “You can hardly stand,” Dan insisted, “You’d be on the floor if not for me.”

“Like your big, northern arms around me.” Jones said, less sexy than probably intended due to the mumbling delivery. Dan used those ‘big, northern arms’ to push Jones far enough away to maneuver the both of them down the hall.

“Listen to yourself,” Dan chuckled darkly as they walked unsteadily towards the one bedroom, “You should be recording this.”

“Ooh, bit kinky.” Jones giggled to himself. Without meaning to, Dan laughed as well, a proper laugh.

They pushed open the door of what had been Jones’ room, then Claire’s room, and now usually alternated between the roommates depending on who got to sleep first. Crossing the threshold had Dan’s uncertainties springing back full force. His powers of perception not as dulled by drink as Dan had thought, Jones seemed to sense this.

“C’mon, Dan.” Jones said, leading him by the hand as he stumbled backwards to the bed. His calves hit the edge and he fell gracelessly onto it, but didn’t release Dan for a moment. Somehow, despite the ungainly sprawl, he managed to look beguiling up at Dan. “Dunno ‘bout you, mate, but I’m gagging for it.” Dan had never heard that expression directed towards him, but he reckoned he’d been ‘gagging for it’ from Jones for ages now.

Feeling foolish but unsure what to do, Dan asked, “What d’you want?” He didn’t mean to sound so gruff about it, he sounded like an overworked prostitute past their prime. Given the incident with the builder, maybe that’s precisely what he was.

Jones slid his gaze down Dan’s body, then met his eyes with a lewd grin. “What’ve you got?” Not waiting for a reply, Jones tugged on Dan’s hand, sending him sprawling over the bed as well.

Jones kissed him again, and Dan turned off his brain and just let the sensation take him. He rucked the t-shirt up Jones’ abdomen, tracing the ribs and line of sparse hair with his fingertips. Feeling Jones’ groan in his mouth and under his hands, Dan pulled back to remove the shirt entirely. Jones only allowed him a glimpse of his naked torso before he was back to snogging him, but Dan held the image of pale skin and pink pebbled nipples in his mind.

Jones’ fingers fumbled at Dan’s shirt buttons, and Dan swatted him away. Instead, he unzipped his trousers, relieving the pressure slightly. Cottoning on, Jones undid his own trousers and pushed them down, along with his pants. Looking down, Dan stared at Jones’ cock. He’d never studied much poetry, certainly not many poems about the male form, but he imagined Catullus or Shakespeare could write a lot about Jones’ cock. He himself lacked the suitable words, and so he did not try.

Jones hummed, fingers clenched in the sheets, as he watched Dan free himself of his pants. “Want you, Dan.” He murmured, sounding adeptly sultry. Dan didn’t bother replying, just leaned down and took both their cocks in hand. In action, it wasn’t that different from jerking himself off, but in feeling it was entirely different. Jones’ smooth skin rubbed along his in a way that skirted the edge of painful friction. Jones threw his head back against the mattress, moaning unrepentantly loudly. Were Claire still living with them, Dan would have to kiss him to muffle the sound, but now he could do it simply because.

“Fuck, Jones.” Dan said as he nosed around the younger man’s jaw. He could feel a shudder run through Jones’ skin. “You’re so hot like this.” He said, for want of anything more eloquent. It must’ve satisfied something in Jones though, because he was grabbing Dan’s face to maneuver him back for a kiss. They’d kissed so often that night already, Dan thought he’d nearly gotten used to the slide of their lips, the heat of Jones’ mouth, the soft warmth of his tongue. He dearly hoped that wasn’t the same thing as taking it for granted.

“Faster.” Jones panted in his ear. Dan obliged, his sweaty palm and their mixed precome easing the way. Jones’ hips bucked beneath him, his hand rising to muss his own hair. With a strange envy, Dan could only watch, needing his arm to prop himself up so as not to crush Jones. Twisting and pulling the hair from his crown, Jones moaned desperately. “Oh, fuck! God, Dan, please!” At a loss, Dan kissed him and tightened his grip on Jones’ thrusting cock. Jones writhed as he pushed into Dan’s hand, and with a stuttering, gasping, moan, he came in hot spurts over Dan’s hand and cock. Dan’s own orgasm hit him without warning as he watched Jone’s eyelashes fluttering over his flushed cheeks. He came unceremoniously onto Jone’s bare stomach.

In the stillness afterwards, with Dan hovering over Jones, their heaving chests brushing as they panted for breath, there was a wave of uncertainty suddenly cresting over them. While knowing it was rude, Dan wiped his hand on the bed sheet. He sat up, giving Jones space, and tucked himself back into his pants and did up his trousers. Hearing grunting, Dan looked over to see Jones struggling with his tight drainpipes stuck around his knees.

“Do us a favor,” Jones said, slurring more pronounced now, “Tug ‘em off?” Despite what they’d just done, Dan blushed as he complied, slowly pulling the trousers off Jones completely. He tossed them off the edge of the bed for Jones to deal with sober. “Thanks.” Jones rolled on his side, his eyes closed, and Dan realized he was just going to go to sleep.

Well then. That was that, it seemed. Dan rose from the bed and walked quietly to the door, trying to repress the sense that he was missing something.

“Dan?” He turned back. Jones was watching him with one bleary eye. He didn’t look particularly happy for someone who’d gotten wasted and had a semi-decent lay. Dan chewed on his lip, his eyes moving unconsciously over Jones’ fully nude body. Odd that this was the first time he was seeing it, after being dismissed from the bedroom. His cock was no less beautiful for being soft, and the dusting of hair was now matted with both of their come. Dan stopped himself from glancing at his arse, but from the corner of his eye it was round and achingly perfect. It was probably a good thing he was past the age of instant refractory periods.

After a moment of silent staring, Jones rubbed his face into the mattress. “Promise to tell me when you hate me,” was the muffled request that reached Dan’s ears, but that couldn’t have been right.

“Sleep it off.” Dan replied, and he shut the door softly behind him as he left. Making a detour to the kitchen, Dan filled a glass from the tap and put it in the fridge. Jones hated lukewarm water after a night of drinking.

When Dan lay down on his couch, he knew he’d lie awake for hours. The Adam Ant record had ended sometime during their… tryst seemed the most appropriate word for some reason. Dan shook his head, thinking back to the last thing he thought he heard. He didn’t hate Jones. Embarrassingly, Jones was one of the few sources of peace in his life.

But since everything went to shit, spearheaded by SugaRape and Nathan Barley, it was true he’d soured on things he’d previously enjoyed. Writing took Samsonian effort. Drinking was a means to getting drunk. People were…

“Idiot.” Dan sighed, knocking his head back against the armrest. He was a complete fool. Of course Jones would think he’d start to hate him, when Dan’s worldview consisted entirely of idiots and potential idiots in the making. And it could all be attributed to his work at SugaRape.

When Dan drifted off to sleep an hour later, his last thought was whether there were any bookshops hiring in the area.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't sure whether to post this as a sequel, or as another chapter. But considering I have plans for more in this storyline, I figure, why not.
> 
> I know what's happening emotionally, but if you guys have requests for any smut, please tell me in the comments! Writing these two fucking is literally keeping me sane through graduation and the job search.


	3. Guns N' Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It may not be Dan’s nature to talk things out, but Jones needed to hear that he hadn’t ruined anything. At the very least he wanted his friend back, and maybe, if he got a good vibe, Jones could ask if Dan would like to fool around again.

“Are you alright, Jones?” Troll asked as he sat on the hanging chair behind the DJ station. Troll was like that; he could be short with customers, but he used full sentences once he thought you’d earned them.

Busy untangling one of his dolls, Jones glanced at him quickly. “Yeah, why?”

“You haven’t seemed quite yourself lately.” He replied, in his deceptively neutral tone. “Distracted. Irritable. Unlike you.” Jones sighed, giving up on the doll and turning to face his coworker.

Stanley Knives was a chill place to work, Jones knew he was lucky. If he’d been anywhere else, he would’ve gotten a talking to about some of his mistakes. Not that most people could tell, his music was all over the shop normally, but Jones had been spacing out and losing track of time, so loops would play until they became monotonous. Usually Troll or Reika, the check out girl, would nudge him out of it.

Plus he’d gotten less patient with the clients. Because they were a cutting edge salon, they got some weirdos with boundary issues every now and again. Jones had had to do up a sign on construction paper reading “touch the faders and i’ll cut you” embellished with glitter and rhinestones. It was pretty, but most places wouldn’t allow threats to the customers, no matter how justified.

“I dunno, mate,” Jones shrugged, “I reckon I’ve had a lot on me mind.”

Troll nodded, processing Jones’ words as if they deserved careful consideration. “Trouble at home?” The stylist ventured, and Jones brought his thumb to his mouth to chew on the nail. He knew what Troll was implying, and he wasn’t far off.

“Er… no? Sort of.” He bowed his head, feeling small under Troll’s scrutiny. “I s’pose—Well, it’d have to be something a bit bigger to really have troubles, and currently… but maybe that’s the trouble, eh?” Troll’s face was impassive, like a stately monk, only with a face tattoo. “Anyway, it’s no big deal. I’ll try and leave it at home, alright?” Jones turned back to his mixing desk preparing to pack the valuable equipment up for the night. He could hear Troll stand, and so the hand on his shoulder was not a surprise.

“If you need to talk, my ears are open.” The offer was kind, and Jones knew if he needed to take him up on it, Troll wouldn’t hesitate to follow through. Still, Jones smiled but didn’t reply, and Troll left him to pack up in peace.

On the Tube ride home, ignoring the dirty looks he and his equipment always got for daring to take up space, Jones bit his thumb again as his thoughts resurfaced. He hadn’t realized his confusion and unease had been noticeable, but now that he knew he wasn’t ignoring it like he’d hoped, he wanted to do something to resolve it.

When Jones gave his flatmate a handie while he was under the influence, Jones did his best to pretend it hadn’t happened. Dan had been irritable and mortified the next day, that’d been clear in how easily he snapped over the phone to someone named Rufus when he called in sick. Jones hadn’t made any reference to what they’d done together, just did little things like made sure the blinds were down and there was a leftover Chinese in the fridge before he left for work.

Except he’d kept thinking about Dan, how he kept putting himself in these positions where he got hurt. It’d made Jones uncomfortable, and he must’ve been more concerned than he realized, because one night when he got drunk off red wine he rambled to one very bemused Dan Ashcroft about how he had to stop. Dan’d been kind enough to humor him and try and get him to bed, and then…

_And then._

It’d been sort of perfect. Kissing Dan. Feeling Dan on top of him. Dan jerking them both off.

Well, perfect except when Dan pushed his hands away from undoing his shirt, and Jones hadn’t dared to touch him again. Perfect until Dan left him alone to sleep on the couch. Not really at all perfect when he woke up with a blinder and had to scrub the dried come off of himself, and when he got out realized Dan had already gone from the flat.

After that, it felt like Jones didn’t see Dan much at all. In the morning Dan was off to work early and usually came in after drinks at the pub. Jones had picked up a couple gigs at this new underground club, and by the time he got home, Dan had fallen asleep on the couch. It got to the point that Jones suspected Dan was purposefully avoiding him. As if Jones was about to maul him or something.

It soured the whole would-quite-like-to-get-off-with-Dan-again realization he’d been having. But, Jones nodded to himself, sparing his poor bitten thumbnail, he would confront Dan about it. It may not be Dan’s nature to talk things out, but Jones needed to hear that he hadn’t ruined anything. At the very least he wanted his friend back, and maybe, if he got a good vibe, Jones could ask if Dan would like to fool around again.

Tonight then. He had another gig, but maybe if he made enough noise coming in, Dan’d wake up and he could use that as an excuse to start talking. Or, Jones thought with trepidation, there was always tomorrow.

Except when Jones lugged his equipment through the door, Dan was already on the couch, awake and on the laptop. Pausing in the doorway, Jones glanced at the clock. His own face told him it was still early, just past 4, and Dan should’ve still been at work. And Jones knew he’d left that morning, the shower’d woken him up, walls’ thin as they were.

“What’re you doing here?” Jones asked, setting his equipment down behind his desk. “Have you pulled a sickie?”

“Not exactly.” To his surprise, Dan sat up and fixed him with his full attention. Jones stopped what he was doing to give Dan his attention as well. His flatmate ran his palm over his very prickly chin, seeming to grapple with words. “About two week—er, that is, I decided—“ Dan cleared his throat. “I quit SugaRape.”

It was lucky he’d put everything down, or Jones would’ve dropped hundreds of pounds worth of electronics. “You what?” He gaped at Dan, who squirmed restlessly.

“I gave my notice to Sasha, but told her to make it disappear for two weeks. In the meantime I picked up extra columns and articles.” Dan shrugged. “Wanted to have some makeshift severance, lord knows Jonatton wouldn’t give me any. Today was my last day, when Sasha ‘found’ my dated resignation letter.”

Dan was being very matter of fact about the whole thing, and Jones was still blindsided. “But…” He stopped himself right before saying ‘why?’ He didn’t want to know. There was the slim chance that Dan had done this because Jones said he was worried. If he asked and Dan gave him a completely reasonable, unrelated explanation, Jones couldn’t hold onto that, the idea that his opinions mattered to Dan.

So Jones shook himself and grinned widely. “That’s brilliant!” Bounding across the room, he threw his arms out and Dan stood to meet him. Jones hugged his flatmate tightly, a giddy laugh building in his stomach. “No more SugaRape!” He said in Dan’s ear. “Does this mean no more Barley?”

“Oh God, I hope so.” Dan grumbled, but he could hear the breathless exhilaration. Releasing his friend, he looked up into Dan’s face. His eyes were crinkly at the edges with genuine happiness, and that made Jones believe anything was possible.

“Blimey, if anything deserves a blowie, it’s dodging that fucking train wreck.” Jones said on a laugh, before his words could catch up to either of them.

The crinkles disappeared as Dan’s eyes went wide. There suddenly wasn’t a bit of them touching anymore. Jones opened and closed his mouth, unsure whether apologizing would just bring more attention to it. Fuck, at least he could’ve had the talk he’d planned before casually bringing up blow jobs. Now Dan just looked cornered. Jones had to do something to defuse the situation before they both panicked.

Thinking quickly, Jones clapped Dan’s arm quickly, refusing to linger. “Ha, c’mon then,” He laughed through his burning throat, “A pint’ll do for now.” Jones turned around and walked out of the flat without checking that Dan was following. He breathed a quiet sigh when he heard Dan catch the door and close it behind them.

Dan’s usual pub was farther, so Jones led them down the road to his pub. It was a bit more punk, more people with ink than ties, and he’d had a thing with one of the bartenders so she usually let him have at least one drink for free. He’d taken Dan there a couple times, but it was rare they decided to go out when they could get shit faced at home.

“Alright, Maureen?” He greeted as they walked in. The woman behind the bar looked over, her nose ring glinting in the low light.

“Yeah, alright, Jones.” She replied, setting down the mixers she’d been accounting. Dan wandered over to a table with two stools while Jones met Maureen at the bar. “Whatchu want?” She asked, her voice naturally coming out dismissively.

“Two pints, whatever you like.” He said with a cheeky wink. Maureen didn’t react except to move to the taps.

“Your boy there.” Maureen began, nodding her chin, and Jones glanced over to see who she was looking at. It was Dan, hunched over the round table top, giving off the same uncomfortable and out of place air as ever. Jones turned back to Maureen, who was still eying Dan. “He’s familiar. He on telly?”

 _He bloody well better not be_ , Jones thought, recalling the legal battle over Barley’s footage. “Nah,” He waved her off, “Just one of those faces.” Maureen sat the drinks down and leaned on the bar.

“S’pose.” She said, still staring at Dan. “It’s a nice face.” Any amicable feelings for Maureen burnt up in Jones’ hot flush.

“Er,” He made a prolonged noncommittal noise, “Not really. But you know my type.”

Maureen grinned, flashing her teeth. “Half of Hoxton knows your type, love.”

Jones hummed, not laughing along but not going so far as to act ruffled, picking up his and Dan’s drinks. “Thanks, Maureen, keep the tab open.” She waved him away, and Jones left.

Dan’s shoulders were practically around his ears when Jones joined him at the table. “A pint for the free man.” He announced as he slid the drink over to the writer. Dan glanced at him, then lifted the glass to his lips and swallowed half his beer. Jones drank slower, trying subtly to assess his mate’s mood. In his absence Dan seemed to have grown surlier. Dan was quiet most of the time, but he wasn’t usually this tense.

“Got any plans?” Jones asked. “Not that you need any. With this new feature spot, I should be good to cover the next couple months rent.” No reply, but Dan started tapping his fingers, like he did when he needed a smoke. “Might be nice, actually.” Jones blundered on optimistically. “Take some time to chill. You never really recharged after the whole window thing. Just settle down, maybe do some writing—“

“I’m not your charity case.” Dan muttered, cutting through Jones without raising his voice. “I’m not gonna lay about on the couch for a couple months, letting you blow me out of the goodness of your heart.”

All of his face was red and stinging as if Dan had slapped him in the face. A litany of _FuckShitFuck_ was running through his brain nonstop, preventing any speedy recovery. As Jones stared, flummoxed, Dan drained the rest of his beer, then reached over to start on Jones’. Jones let him. A high pitched, breathless laugh eked out his throat.

“Look, I—I didn’t—back at the flat, I didn’t mean—“

“No, I expect you didn’t.” Dan chose that moment to look at him. “I’m not really your ‘type’, eh?”

 Jones leaned back on his stool, understanding clicking into place. “You heard that, with Maureen.”

“The music isn’t exactly loud, or has your racket finally busted your ears so you don’t even notice.” That… that was low. Of all the ways he could be cruel, Dan had never dragged Jones’ music into an argument. There had always been a limit when they bickered about money or who got to use the bedroom. Dan’d just chosen to ignore that limit entirely.

“I didn’t mean nothing with Maureen,” Jones said, trying to reign in his hurt and anger, “And at the flat, my mouth ran without thinking. I don’t pity you, I’m just trying to be your friend, Dan, or maybe—“

“We’re flatmates.” Dan interrupted, giving in and pulling out a cigarette. “Flatmates who’ve fucked when they were pissed, if you can even call what we did fucking.” He lit up as he spoke as casually as he would about the weather. “’S not exactly what true friendship is built on, is it?” Dan smoked while Jones felt his world crumbling. Any hopes for something more were crushed firmly beneath Dan’s boot, and all that was left was indignant rage.

Leaning over, Jones hissed, “Fuck you, Preacherman.” Dan didn’t look at him, didn’t even blink. “I’m not Barley, I won’t take your abuse. You think your word is law, but you’re wrong, so fucking wrong. I don’t need to whore myself for you, I do whatever the fuck I want. But don’t worry, I won’t be touching your dick anytime soon.” Jones looked down at his own clenched fist resting on the table, softening his tone. “I’m not throwing you out when you’re skint. You’re gonna sleep on my couch, and you’re gonna eat my food, and you’re gonna drink my liquor. Because I always thought we were mates, even if you didn’t.”

Dan wet his lips, and seemed about to speak before Maureen called over, “Oi, you hear of the smoking ban, gotta put that out, man.” Before Dan could rub it out, Jones plucked it from his loose grip.

“No need, I’m out.” He said as he stood. “Don’t come back before I’ve left for my gig. And by the way,” Jones looked down at Dan, slumped on a bar stool, and thought he really did look pathetic, “Maureen fancies you. Don’t say I never did anything nice for you.” Jones stalked away, bringing the cigarette to his own lips, aware that that would be the closest he’d come to kissing Dan again.

There was too much time to kill before the gig, and Jones spent it modulating the sound of a trash compactor. A couple last minute adjustments to his set list, and he was out the door. Dan hadn’t come back.

 _Da Gap_ was an underground club, in a literal sense as well, decorated to feel like an abandoned Tube station. Jones hauled his equipment down the narrow stairs, grumbling the whole way. He checked in with the manager, and since he was the third DJ on the list that night, Jones parked himself at the bar.

Eventually, by his second drink, his thoughts swung from _Fuck Dan_ to _Fuck me, what the fuck was I thinking_? He should never have A) tried to downplay his attraction to Dan for Maureen, B) said that shit to Dan, and C) slipped up about blowing Dan in the first place. The whole afternoon had completely blown any chance he had of something more with Dan. He’d made it awkward, set Dan on edge, and then had a row.

And because he loved Dan, he wasn’t going to let him go out on the streets when he didn’t have a job. So Jones would have to see him everyday, knowing he wanted him but Dan didn’t feel the same.

By the time Jones was up, he’d suffered through one mediocre DJ and one shit band doing GN’R covers, and made it through four drinks. He was more buzzed than he liked to be starting a set, because he needed a clear head to read the room. It was a good rowdy Friday night crowd, despite the bad acts that had come before. Jones opened with his celebratory shout and got quickly to work.

Jones put on his most aggressive mix, which he’d titled, _Die Nathan Barley Die Or Get The Fuck Out Of My Flat_. The crowd ate it up. After that was _Ways To Make Claire Leave_ , followed by an oldie, _Who The Hell Replaced My Drugs With Flour?_ He played all the anger and resentment he’d ever felt out over those speakers. As he did Jones felt lighter, freer, his emotions bleeding out and fueling the frenzy on the dance floor. 

And the crowd did love it, love him, as they formed a group hollering at him right in front of his elevated decks. They passed him free drinks, and slips of paper with their numbers, and Jones took them all. He loved his public just as much as they loved him.

So it wasn’t completely surprising to him that after his set finished, with a rocking climax of _Just Talk To Me Or Piss Off_ , a man came up to him with a sly grin and an offer to share some poppers. Jones thought it over for a whole five seconds before agreeing. Poppers were genius, and the man was good looking enough, and a good fuck might be all he needed.

Except that by the time they were rutting against the wall, his blood pumping wildly, the man sucking his collarbone, Jones kept thinking there was something else he’d rather be doing. Someone else he’d rather be doing this with. Surely if he came to Dan now he could make what he wanted clear. Who could resist poppers and this face?

“Mmm, sorry mate,” Jones pulled away from the man even as he slipped his hand into his pocket, “Forgot I have to be somewhere.” The man was still gaping as he left, and wouldn’t even notice Jones had taken the rest of his poppers.

Jones abandoned his equipment in favor of racing home, knowing he could retrieve them tomorrow. A short run through the streets of Shoreditch to the flat, and Jones was laughing breathlessly the whole way. He burst through the door still giggling to himself, but tried to stop when he saw Dan standing up from the sofa. Poor Dan looked so serious, alone in the dark, silent flat. Jones would set it right.

“Alright?” Jones said, stumbling forward. His hands caught Dan’s collar, and he sagged, letting the taller man take most of his weight. Dan didn’t budge, looking down at him with that same frown. Jones tipped his chin up, batting his lashes the way he’d learnt from girls and tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “Sorry ‘bout earlier, wanna make it up to you.” He pressed closer to Dan, enough to rub against him in little semiconscious movements of his chest and hips.

Dan finally reached for him, but it was only to place a thumb over the mark the man at the club had left on his neck. “Oh Jones,” He sighed, “What’ve you been up to?”

Unable to think hard enough for a lie, Jones answered, “Was at the gig an’ some bloke came onto me. But I didn’t want to, not without you, didn’t seem right.” Hit with an idea, Jones released Dan’s collar to fumble around in his pockets. Victorious, he pulled out the baggie of little vials he’d knicked.

Dan stared blankly. “What do you expect me to do with this?”

“I want you to bum me.” Jones said with a grin, letting his pink tongue roaming over his teeth do the work for him. After a moment of Dan not reacting, Jones waved the poppers and added, “Or I can do you, it don’t matter to me.”

Dan chewed on his lip, starting to breathe hard through his nose. “You’re drunk,” Dan finally said, with a sort of forced calm that strained his voice, “You’re high, and you’re horny. I may be a shithead but even I know where the line is.”

Jones straightened as he struggled to understand. “Are you saying you don’t want to?” The poppers’ effects were wearing off, leaving him lightheaded and unsatisfied.

“I’m not having hate sex with you just seven hours after we…” Dan trailed off, and that somehow reignited Jones’ anger.

“We what? Broke up? You have to actually _be_ something to end something, and according to you we were never even friends!” His voice kept rising, as if trying to fill the unusually dead air of the flat. “You wouldn’t even let me explain! You did your patented Ashcroft self-righteous tirade and didn’t bother to listen!” Jones turned and stalked to the other end of the room, needing distance. He expected Dan to cut in, but when he faced him again Dan was just standing there, taking it. So Jones went on, letting it all out like he did in song. “And what is with your…” He struggled for the words, “…making excuses. Hate sex and charity blowies.” Jones pointed viciously at him. “If I wanna fuck you, it’s ‘cause I wanna fuck you! It’s simple, _I’m_ simple!” Dan shut his eyes and shook his head, but still he said nothing. His silence infuriated Jones. “But you’d rather be tragic and alone, yeah?” He said, going for the jugular. “Maybe I should hit up Claire. She likes druggies and simpletons, yeah? Maybe fucking her for a couple hours will get the Ashcroft out of my system.”

In the silence afterward, some sensibility returned. Jones felt a creeping horror at what he had just said. In the same way Dan had never before insulted his music, Jones had never brought up Dan’s sister. Claire may have annoyed him and openly disliked him, but Jones would’ve never thought of slagging her off, especially not to rile Dan up.

Which, it turned out, he hadn’t succeeded in doing.

“Go to sleep, Jones.” Dan mumbled, carefully not looking at him. He stood in the middle of their flat, no longer a home but a war zone, looking beaten down by the whole damn world. “We can talk in the morning.” Dan turned away, and Jones was awash in his disappointment. As much as Jones wanted to exit kicking and screaming in justified anger, the shame he felt bowed his shoulders, and all he could do was slink to his room.

As Jones lay in his empty bed, face shoved into his pillow, too depressed to bother getting himself off, he tried and failed to feel like more than a worthless piece of shit. A thought niggled at the back of his mind, and Jones was reaching for the phone before it could slip away.

“Hey Troll?” He asked plaintively into the mobile. “Have you got a mo?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, Troll is the stylist at Stanley Knives that give Nathan Barley the ridiculous Ashcroft inspired "hairdo". I just thought he was cool and needed to give Jones friends outside of Dan and Claire.
> 
> And don't worry, I'll fix it ;)


	4. Jazz (All Of It)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I, er, didn’t know—“
> 
> “Didn’t know I fancied DJs?”

_We can talk in the morning_ had been a blatant lie.

Dan called Claire as soon as he reckoned she’d be awake, and left the flat without so much as a note. They met for coffee down the road from Claire’s new place. A moderately upscale cafe, it was quiet for a Saturday morning. Dan sipped on his black coffee while Claire had a cappuccino.

“So what’s brought this on?” Claire asked, not sounding particularly interested. Her tone was deceptive though, he could tell she’d been itching with curiosity since he called.

“Couple things.” Dan replied at his leisure. “I quit SugaRape, for starters.”

“Oh.” She said with wide eyes, though Dan hadn’t thought it would be surprising. The shit that magazine put him through was hardly secret. Claire nodded as she processed. “Have you got anything else on?”

“No. Some ideas.” He sniffed, recalling the conversation that had prompted it all. “Think I might work in a shop.”

“A—wow.” His sister was looking at him as if she’d never seen him before. “Isn’t that a bit plebeian for you?” Dan sneered but didn’t reply. Claire dialed it back a bit. “That’s good, Dan. I’m happy for you. If you need anything…” But the offer trailed off as he’d expected. With all the baggage between them now, she couldn’t genuinely offer him anything and he couldn’t accept it. She’d taken Barley money, after all.

“Less good news.” Dan went on, feeling his nerves spike. This was the crux of the matter, why he’d sought his sister’s counsel. “I may have fucked things up with Jones.” All her burgeoning respect faded to be replaced by Claire’s comfortably familiar expression of disappointment.

“For God’s sake, what did you do? Unplug his deck? Break some vinyl?”

Dan hid behind his coffee as long as he could before he cleared his throat and muttered, “We had sex.”

Shocked silence met his ears, and then came the sound of Claire choking on her own spit. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Jones and I got off with each other.” Dan focused on the specials board behind her, idly wondering if he should get a bagel while simultaneously overcome with doubt.

Claire could be a hypocrite. That was just part of her personality, he’d come to find. As much as she touted acceptance for all races, colors, and creeds, he wondered if this was the limit of her liberalism, or if it was somehow different closer to home. Lord, he wanted a smoke.

Her cheeks were bright pink and she fiddled with the hair behind her ear. “I, er, didn’t know—“

“Didn’t know I fancied DJs?” Dan said with a wry smile. In lieu of a cigarette, he drained the last of his coffee. “Yeah. Yeah, I fancy DJs.”

Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? It was no longer about men or women. For a while his growing misanthropy and depression had made any romantic prospect feel unbearable. Sex had felt like far too much effort for little return. Coming out hadn’t mattered, because Dan didn’t want to fuck anybody.

Until Jones.

“Okay then.” Claire said simply, and Dan eyed her.

“Is it?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” They watched each other carefully, as if in a stand off. It was so rare they agreed or showed each other any care that neither knew what to do.

She broke first. “So how’d you fuck it up? You… You didn’t do it last night and then leave this morning, did you? Jesus fucking Christ, Dan—“

“No, the first time was nearly a month ago.” And like that, the whole story came out. Everything since the SugaRape party where he got dosed with E, Jones getting drunk, and it all going to shit. Last night’s row he edited down, leaving out the drugs and what Jones had said about Claire.

“You know he was right.” Claire cut in once he told her about Jones’ words at the bar. “You got jealous because you thought he was flirting with that bartender and so you lashed out before he could leave you.”

“Yeah, I know, classic Ashcroft.” Shaking his head, Dan looked at her defeated. “But what can I do?”

Her brows came together as she frowned. “That depends on what you want. Sounds like Jones is giving you an out. He’s not going to push, unless he gets drunk again that is. He’s letting you stay rent free until you get a job, I wish all my exes were that generous.”

Dan pressed his lips together as he exhaled sharply. “I don’t want an out, Claire.” She sighed, tapping her finger to her mouth as she thought it over. Dan ordered another coffee before she spoke.

“It doesn’t sound hopeless.” She said. Dan huffed at her unconvincing optimism. “I’m serious. Jones is sending mixed signals.” Yeah, amyl nitrates will do that to a person, he thought but didn’t say. “Man up and talk to him. Apologize and tell him you want to have more sex. I can’t see him turning that down.”

“Sober Jones said he wasn’t interested,” He pointed out, “Shouldn’t I listen to that, instead of whatever he does drunk?”

“Apparently you’ve got nothing to lose, you might as well come out with it all.” Claire took out her phone, typing as she continued to talk. “I’ve got no clue what goes on in Jones’ head. For all we know he’s been in love with you for years, I always wondered why he was so nice to you.”

Dan scowled incredulously. “What, when you were staying with us?”

“Course. I’d never seen you so comfortable sharing space with someone.” She shrugged. “Guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

Conversation shifted to Claire’s life, but Dan tuned out. He ran over Jones’ behavior again and again. It seemed unlikely that Jones could still be interested after _I’m not gonna touch your dick anytime soon_. But then he hadn’t expected him to come home with a hickey and poppers and asking Dan to bum him. Dan wasn’t about to cross that line when Jones already had reason enough to be cross. Though he had made Dan pause when he said _If I wanna fuck you, it’s ‘cause I wanna fuck you_.

Could Jones still fancy him, if he ever did? If there was the slightest chance, shouldn’t Dan go for it? It went against his very nature as a coward. The threat of rejection wasn’t just looming, it was all-encompassing. But Dan truly did think that, well… Jones could make him happy. And Dan was so tired of being unhappy.

“Dan. Dan!” He shook himself at Claire’s snap. She glared, but in the way that told him her heart wasn’t really in it, she was more angry out of obligation. “You didn’t catch a word, did you? Fuck, I guess some things never change.” She stood, shouldering her handbag. “How Jones can stand—but then I s’pose you’re both twatboxes. Match made in heaven.” As she stalked away from the table, footing Dan the bill, she called facetiously over her shoulder, “Good luck!”

Luck was on his side, as it happened, because he had just enough to pay for their coffees. Dan strolled back to the flat rather than taking the bus. He was, he could admit to himself, prolonging the time until he’d have to face Jones. He needed time to plan what to say, otherwise he’d definitely fuck it up.

But no, Jones would be hungover. Dan could apologize by taking care of him. They had Asprin in the flat, right? Once Jones was clear headed, and grateful, Dan could confess… what? Love? His face unconsciously twisted. The very idea seemed absurd. But what else was it? More than sex, that was for certain. Was he really going to ask for the sophomoric title of boyfriend, stagnant monogamy, and hand jobs before 9 o’clock? It seemed antithesis to Jones and himself. Fact was though, he’d take anything so long as Jones was around.

As Dan turned the corner, he felt a stirring of unease. There was no pounding baseline radiating down the block from House of Jones. Still, perhaps Jones was still asleep, or nursing a terrible headache, not that that usually stopped him. Dan opened the flat’s door with trepidation. Nothing. Dead air. Swallowing, Dan stalked through the flat straight for the bedroom. Slowly he pushed open the door, and his heart sank. The bed was made for the first time since he moved in. No sign of Jones, hungover or not.

Dan stumbled back to his couch and sunk into the smoke-stained cushions. His mind was buzzing with so much he kept coming up empty. He grabbed his laptop from where it lay on the floor and opened it on his chest.

After multiple opened and closed word documents and several hours deliberation, he had something written. Some parts he was still toying with.

 _Shit to say to Jones:_  
_I’m sorry. I can be a stupid shithead sometimes. Yesterday at the bar was a good example, but it goes back before then. I thought us_ _~~having sex~~  _ _~~fooling around~~  _ ~~ _being more than flatmates_ ~~ _fucking would ruin things. I tried to downplay it, if not ignore it. I thought_ ~~_I_ ~~ _it couldn’t mean that much to you. I was wrong and ended up hurting you._  
_You made a joke about giving me a blow job, at least I told myself it was a joke. It frightened me that you could be open about what you wanted, and that what you wanted was_ ~~ _apparently_ ~~ _me. So when you went off to Maureen and I heard you say I wasn’t your type, I got angry and acted like the aforementioned shithead that I am. I see now that you were_ ~~ _jealous_ ~~ _lying to her. I should’ve listened to you, and I definitely shouldn’t have insinuated that you were_ ~~ _a whore_ ~~ _being disingenuous._  
_You were right. You don’t deserve to be treated like shit. I don’t want to do that anymore, but I can’t promise I won’t, because I don’t know how to be a decent human being. You make me want to be though, if that counts for anything._  
_I want to be something with you. You have always been the relief from the idiots, but I understand better now what that feeling means. I know you very well, as long as you don’t count first names as a prerequisite for that claim. I have the desire to make you happy, and I think even Claire doesn’t get that anymore. You care about me, even when I don’t deserve it, and I don’t want you to stop.  
_ ~~ _I don’t have the words for what I feel for you, but it is something._ ~~

That last line just sounded pathetic. He’d gone back and forth deleting it before simply striking it through so he could stare at his utter failure. He should’ve stuck to scathing editorials.

The dreary London sky was darkening further, Dan’s stomach was rumbling, and Jones was still not back. He dragged himself up. Perhaps by some miracle leaving the flat would cause Jones to reappear. Trudging down the pavement, Dan had his sights on his favorite curry place, which took him through the main streets lined with bars and clubs. It was still too early for the rabble, which was his only saving grace.

Still. “Ash-motherfucking-croft!” Dan bit his lip hard and squared his shoulders. It could’ve been worse.

“Oh yeah, Vitamin D!” Rufus joined Ned in circling him as Dan walked on.

“That was well dunce, the way you pulled a bunk on SugaRape?” Ned chattered enthusiastically.

“Yeah, and like, Yeah?’s been a mentalist since you left. He’s been beating us, but like, not really, you know?” Dan didn’t react, but that news did make him feel vindicated. His former colleagues were unlikely to leave him, so Dan started casting around for an escape route.

“Have you got another mag lined up?” Ned asked. “Or, like, are you starting your own?”

“‘Cause Ned and I were thinking,” Dan rolled his eyes skeptically, “Of ditching SugaRape too. We got this blog, you know, and if you’d start your own mag, we could do columns and shit.”

“As a favor.”

“Yeah, totally.”

“I’m not starting my own magazine.” Dan had to say. “I’m not writing a blog, I’m not doing anything worthwhile, so you might as well forget all about me.”

“Keeping it low-key, yeah?” Rufus said with a nod that boasted understanding.

“We get it,” Ned agreed, “You’ll call us when you’re ready.” Holding in a groan, Dan’s eyes alighted on his escape at last. He veered away from the two idiots and ducked into the ‘Classics & Curios’ book shop, barely more than a hole in the wall but enough to throw those two off. As soon as he entered the shop, the bell above tinkling merrily, Dan inhaled the stiff smell of paper and leather. There was no pre-packaged babe band pumped through the speakers, just some classic smooth jazz emanating from a record player. Unwittingly Dan relaxed, until two more chimes of the bell had his hackles up.

“This where you spend your days, Ashcroft?” Rufus asked as he craned his neck around. “Rare! This is dead e- _lite_.”

“Where’s the cafe?” Ned asked as he stepped further into the shop. Dan had a spike of irritation, a protective instinct, and resolved to make the idiots leave as soon as possible. Turning to the nearest shelf, Dan scanned the titles.

“You want to impress me?” He said bitterly. “Fair enough, have a go.” The perfect thing leaped out at him, and Dan grabbed the thick, plainly bound book. He thrust it at Ned. “Finish that and report back.”

“ _Ulysses_?” Ned read out with a squint. “What, you want, like, a book report?”

“Oh, shit, hang on!” Rufus bounded over to clasp Ned on the shoulder. “It’s like a test, innit? We gotta do a write up and if we make the cut you’ll bring us on your next project?”

Dan sighed, and instead of reiterating that he had no projects and no interest in Ned and Rufus’s writing, he said, “Something like that.” He lead the still befuddled Ned to the cash register, where an old gent stood watching Dan with a peculiar expression. Dan stared back as Ned was rung up, hoping that he hadn’t been lumped in with the garishly dressed, loud child-men beside him.

“Cheers, Ashcroft.” Ned said, as Rufus steered him towards the door.

“Smeg you laters!” Rufus called out, a clear Barley-ism that made Dan cringe. The door shut with finality behind them, and Dan leaned against the counter, exhausted from the encounter.

“That was a good sale.” The old shop keep said to him, and Dan looked over. He was a short man with thinning grey hair, dressed in braces and a coat. His face was lined, but warm.

“I just needed them to leave me alone.” Dan confessed.

“Well, in any case, you’ve done me a favor.” The man wandered off, sitting in a worn armchair and picking up a discarded newspaper. “Not too many people are buying the classics anymore. These days it’s mostly Uni kids.”

That piqued Dan’s interest, but it wasn’t until his gaze found the ‘Clerk Wanted’ sign flat on the counter that an idea formed. “You’re hiring a shop clerk?”

“I was. Me and the wife don’t like to be on our feet all day. But no one was interested, so…” The man squinted at him. “Why? You looking for a job?”

After a handshake and a promise to return Monday, Dan returned to the flat with curry and a bounce in his step. Until there was yet again no sign of Jones, and any buoyancy left him. While Dan sat on the couch and ate his dinner, his eyes strayed to his cellphone. He could call. He could ask Jones to come home. He could even recite his letter, unpolished and embarrassing as it was.

Mostly he wanted to know Jones was okay.

Giving in, Dan picked up his phone, but balked at dialing. A text would suffice. After nearly as much editing as the letter, he finally pressed send.

_Where are you?_

Not too clingy, a simple inquiry. Dan set the phone down and kept eating. He was throwing out the boxes when the reply came in.

**@ a friends flat**

The image that came unbidden to Dan’s mind was Jones with a hickey on his neck. He hoped he wouldn’t have to see that again. Jealousy had been what, primarily, caused their row, so Dan did his best to ignore the lick of green flames at the corners of his eyes.

_But you’re okay_

The reply came surprisingly fast given its length.

**didnt od if thats wot u mean**

A denial was halfway typed before Dan realized Jones wasn’t far off. He’d known Jones had a spotty history with drugs, but seeing him come home high had been a shock. Apart from the horrifying idea that Dan’s shitty actions could affect Jones’ life, Dan was overcome with a protectiveness in himself that shocked him. He wondered bitterly if it stemmed from a selfish desire to keep Jones in his life, or if most people felt that way, if it was in fact a normal part of needing someone.

Jones’ second text came before he could formulate an answer.

**not cumin bak 2nite. sry**

Dan bit his lip, and typed out perhaps the most important part of his letter.

_I’m sorry_

There was no reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so... I feel as though I haven't delivered on the smut the way the story summary promises. So I have a question for any readers out there.
> 
> Would you prefer more angsty fuckbuddy smut where neither is sure the other person actually cares about them before the romance is resolved? Or would you prefer a romantic resolution followed by sex in multiple parts while they figure out their relationship?
> 
> Either way what initially was going to be 5 or 6 chapters seems to be spiraling on due to my continued lack of employment. My loss is your gain, hopefully?


End file.
